Long Ago and Far Away
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: Margaret Hogan's world is turned upside down by the arrival of a telegram. Final part of the Sisterhood of War.
1. Chapter 1

AN: All characters are fictitious. Though historical facts are noted, this story and its events are purely from my imagination, so any similarity to real life people or situations is purely coincidental. I claim ownership to all OCs and none of the Hogan's Heroes characters.

Newington, Connecticut

January 20, 1944

They call me a soldier's angel. I'm not really. Last time I checked, I didn't have wings growing out of my back or the ability to accompany the people I love into battle. I wasn't there when my twin brother Robert crashed in Germany. I wasn't with my husband Walter when he fought in the Pacific or when my younger brother Frank left to fight. I don't have any special powers really. I just do what I can.

What I can do is visit the veterans' hospitals, as long as the doctors will let me. Sure, the travel gets expensive, but I don't care. The joy I see on the faces of boys who've had unspeakable horrors inflicted on them makes the costs worthwhile. I just wish I could take credit for coming up with the idea. Robert suggested it a few months back. "You could charm the crankiness from Hitler with that smile of yours," he said in a letter. "I can just imagine what you'd do for wounded men's morale." While I haven't taken a crack at Hitler, I daresay I cheered up the five boys who've proposed to me since I started my visits. I only wish I could help boys like the one I sat with on my last visit. His face was covered with so many bandages, he looked like an actor in a horror film.

His doctors said he's been like this for nearly a year. God, what a year it must have been for him. What a year it's been for me, too. If I'd only known what was coming.

oOo

Bridgeport, Connecticut

January 20, 1943

It just hadn't been my day. The glaze on my ham had turned into a lacquer, my meatball hors d'œuvres had crumbled to dust and my cake batter was threatening to follow suit as I knocked half the bag of flour into it.

"Dammit!" I growled, coughing and waving away the cloud of white powder hanging over me. "I should know better than to listen to Edith Hansen's _Kitchen Club_. This happens every time I try one of her recipes, especially when Mom and Dad are coming over for dinner."

The stove hissed as my peas started boiling over. "Argh! Can this day get any worse?" I turned the burner down and blew on the water when the doorbell buzzed. "Eddie!" I yelled. "Would you get that please? My hands are full."

The doorbell rang several times in rapid succession. "Eddie! I told you to answer the door, young man!"

My youngest's footsteps shook the ceiling as he bounded down from his room to the front hall. "Thank you!" I shook my head. "Honestly. It's like he pretends I'm not even talking."

He wasn't the only one. My oldest, Tom—who took after his uncle in every way, including his rebellious streak—argued with me no matter what I said. Lorraine, my middle child, had a gift for hearing only what she wanted to hear, so I rarely got through to her either.

"Mom!" he shouted. "It's for you."

"Tell them to come back later," I snapped, shoveling a handful of flour back into the bag. "I've up to my elbows in trouble right now."

"Mom says to come back later and that's up to her elbows in trouble!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, good grief, Eddie, you didn't have to repeat that."

"He says he can't go until he seems you! He's got a telegram for you!"

My eyebrows rose. "A telegram? I'm not expecting any telegrams."

The world stopped as it hit me. _It can't be._ _I got a letter from him a week ago. He just shipped out from Honolulu._

I barely felt the towel I wiped my hands on before forcing myself to walk to the front door. My feet suddenly felt like they'd been fitted for concrete shoes.

The gangly carrot-topped kid on the steps looked away when he saw me. "Mrs. Walter Allen?"

"Yes?" I said, my lips fumbling over the word.

He gulped, holding out a small white envelope to me. "Telegram from the War Department. I'm awfully sorry, ma'am."

I took it and reached into my apron pocket, frowning as I pulled out a handful of flour. "That's funny, I don't seem to have anything to give you for a tip."

He shuffled his feet and headed for his dented bike. "Oh, that's alright. I'd better be on my way anyway."

I stared at the envelope in my hand. _There must be a mistake. This can't be mine. _

Eddie tugged my skirt. "Mom? Is something wrong?"

I tried to speak, but only managed a short croak.

"Mom, are you okay?" Eddie asked, his voice softer.

I started for the gate. _T__his can't be happening._ I pushed it open and stumbled down the sidewalk against a gusting north wind._ I couldn't bear it._

I headed for my parent's house at the end of the street. _I've got to find Frank. Surely he hasn't left yet. He'll tell me the truth. He'll tell me it's alright. _

I banged on their door, feeling like I was watching another woman living this nightmare. _This isn't happening to me. It can't be._

Mom opened the door and gave me a cheerful smile. "Margaret, what a surprise! Do you need a cup of sugar or some eggs?" She looked at Eddie. "Why, if it isn't my favorite grandson."

"Is Frank home?" I whispered, feeling a cold numbness settle over me.

Her face fell as she saw the telegram trembling in my hands. "What's wrong?"

"I need to see Frank."

She wrapped her arm around me and let me in. "Sit down, dear. You look like your ready to fall down. Where are Tom and Lorraine?"

"Out with their friends. And I don't want to sit down. I want Frank to read my telegram."

"Did I hear my name?" Frank asked, appearing in the hall. "No doubt my dearest older sister has come to bid me farewell before I leave tonight."

If Robert had the sex appeal of Tyrone Power, Frank had a presence equaled only by Cary Grant, especially when he was in his Marine uniform. No wonder the girls in our neighborhood couldn't keep their hands off them.

At the moment, though, his good looks were obscured by a concerned expression. "What's wrong? You look like you've been through a tornado. What the heck have you got all over you?"

"Please, Frank, read this to me," I gasped, my lungs feeling ready to burst through my ribs. "I can't."

Frank took my hands and held them until I calmed down enough for him to take the envelope and open it. "Mrs. Allen," he read. "We deeply regret to inform you your husband, Cpl. Walter D. Allen, A.U.S., was killed in action on January 15 in the performance of his duty in the service of his country. Please accept our heartfelt sympathy. Letter to follow."

A horrible wail grated on my ears. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from me.

"Margaret!" Mom said sharply. "Margaret!"

The world faded into darkness as consciousness mercifully slipped away from me.

oOo

I don't remember much of the weeks that followed, other than a haze of faces offering their condolences at Walter's funeral. I got a letter from Walter's commander, which I hardly looked at before throwing away, and one from Robert that I shoved in a drawer without opening. He was the stronger one between the two of us—he never felt sorry for me through any of my childhood crises like skinned knees or broken hearts—so any sympathy from him was more than I could bear. The kids and I moved in with Mom and Dad after I started throwing up when they tried to take me home. I said little and ate even less, preferring to pass the days lying in my old bedroom, where Frank carried me after I fainted. Normally I would've been mortified at my hysterical reaction, but, as I watched the world go on as if the love of my life had never existed, I didn't give a damn what I looked like anymore.

Finally, a month and a half later, Mom forced me to face facts.

"Margaret," she said one morning, coming in my room without knocking. "I brought you some porridge."

I yawned and rolled over. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

She set the bowl on my nightstand with a loud clatter. "I'm awfully tired of bringing you breakfast in bed and having you not eat it."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, Mom, please leave me alone."

She went awfully quiet, which, for Mom, means she's winding up to let you have it. "As you like it, your highness!" she snapped.

I studied the daisies on the bowl. "What do you want from me? My husband's dead. That's not like losing a pet or breaking a piece of great grandma's china."

Mom's round face wrinkled like a burnt apple. "You think you're the only woman who's lost her husband in this war? You're not. The only difference between them and you is they get up every morning and go on with their lives as best they can."

I sat up, scowling. "What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"What you've always done, hide from the world."

I straightened up, my shoulders tensing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What would you call not getting out of bed for weeks?" She sighed and sat on the bed beside me. "Margaret, you're a wonderful mother and daughter, but you're going to drive yourself to an early grave if you keep going like this."

I buried my face in my hands. "You think I enjoy being this way? I hate it, but I don't know what else to do! I'm a 38-year-old widow with three children and no future."

She shook my shoulders. "Listen to yourself! How do you think Walter would feel if he heard that, or saw you moping around like a silly child?"

I stared at her. She had me and she knew it.

She took my hand. "You're better than this and you know it. You just don't give yourself enough credit. You never have. It's like Robert got a second helping of confidence and left you with nothing when you two were born. Maybe I'm partly to blame because I let his getting into mischief and Frank's debate team and track and field competitions take my attention away from you when you needed me."

I groaned. "What does that have to do with anything? It happened so long ago, it doesn't matter anymore."

She smiled. "Exactly. Eventually, we have to put the past behind us, whether it's something that happened yesterday or a long time ago. You have children who love and need you, Margaret. The longer you hide, the more you'll hurt them. If you can't pull yourself together for your own sake, do it for them."

I opted to lie back down and pretend to sleep instead of reply. After a spell, I felt the mattress shift when she stood up and listened as her footsteps drifted away. Once she'd gone, I peeled back the covers slowly and ate the porridge.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you everyone for your thoughtful reviews and critiques for the first chapter. To everyone who's stuck with the story so far, I hope you're rewarded with far more back story in this chapter and that you'll see it through to the last two chapters I've almost completed. Thank you all again.

March 24, 1943

Mom and Dad's House, Bridgeport, Connecticut

Thanks to Mom's foresight in fetching some clothes, I didn't have to go back to the house to get my best pair of Luxed(1) stockings, my nicest dress—a white one with little roses on it— and a matching tilt hat Walter bought me for my 35th birthday. I paused while I adjusted it, feeling sick as I thought of how he beamed when he gave it to me. _Don't think about that now._

I turned my attention to my lipstick as I checked my appearance in my vanity mirror.

_Last time I wore this shade of red, I was on my wedding night. Poor Walter, he insisted on carrying me over the threshold of our honeymoon cottage, even though he had the flu. He spent the rest of the night with his head in a bucket. _

Bodily misfortunes always befell Walter at the worst possible times. Come to think of it, I wouldn't have met him if he hadn't bumped into me while trying to pinch his bloody nostrils shut.

"Excuse me, but do you know where the school nurse's office is?" he asked, his normally deep voice now a nasally whine.

I gasped. "Oh, you poor boy! Here, let me show you."

By the time I brought him to Nurse Jensen, he'd bled all over my new dress, a project I was supposed to model for my sewing class that period, and I found myself falling in love with him. Not only did we like all the same things, such as Irving Berlin songs and romantic movies, he made me feel something I'd never experienced before; being useful. No one had ever done that before, not even my brothers. Sure, Frank treated me well enough, but he turned nasty whenever he thought I took too much of Robert's attention away from him. Robert was my constant companion when his friends weren't around, and the only person I ever told all my secrets to, but he never seemed to need or want me. As much as I loved him, I think a small part of me resented how he always went his own way, even when I wouldn't follow him. Walter, bless him, couldn't function without me. He needed me to do everything for him, from picking his ties to driving him to his first job, a soda jerk at a drug store downtown.

So, when he got down on one knee in my parent's living room and popped the question, what else could I do but say yes?

_Now here I am, 16 years later, starting my life over again. _

I picked up Robert's letter, which I'd only had the courage to open a few days before, and reread it. In some ways, I wish I hadn't. It was harder to take than the telegram.

_Dear Margaret,_

_I just got Mom's letter about Walter. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. Even though he and I weren't exactly buddies, I know he meant the world to you. _

_I want you to know I'm also sorry about everything we've said and done to each other. You'll always be special to me, no matter what happens._

I wanted to cry as I remembered the day I told him about Walter and me. I never dreamed I'd have to lose a brother to gain a boyfriend.

oOo

"Walter asked me to be his girl," I gushed to Robert once I closed my bedroom door. "Isn't that wonderful? I've never been so excited." I frowned when he didn't reply. "Well, what do you think?"

I'd expected him to hug me, or at least congratulate me for reaching such an important milestone for a young woman. Instead, he laughed in my face. "Walter Allen? You're joking right?"

Each chuckle felt like a kick in the stomach. "No, I'm not!" I snapped. "We're in love! I think he's going to ask me to marry me."

His face hardened. "God, Margaret, open your eyes! He looks like a bean pole and he's about as much fun to be around as a wet paper bag. You could do so much better than that drip."

Rage boiled in me as tears stung my cheeks. "What chance do I have with any other guys? They ignore ugly girls like me because they're all like you, shallow and stupid!" I shook my head. "Well, I don't care what you think! Walter's got a beautiful soul, something you know nothing about!"

He stiffened. "That's a crummy thing to say! You know me better than that."

"Oh really?" I spat. "All you and your friends care about is who's pretty and easy!" I turned away. "You know what my first thought was after I saw Walter today? 'Gee, I can't wait to tell Robert.' Now I wish I hadn't said anything. Why can't you at least pretend to care or be happy for me?"

He folded his arms. "I _am_ happy for you! I'm always happy for you."

"Then why don't you ever show it, you cold, self-centered son of a bitch?"

I'm not sure who was more surprised by my language, him or me. He was quiet for what seemed like ages and I sensed something had changed, like a wall had come down between us. "I guess I was wrong," he said, leaving the room. "You really think that little of me."

"Wait!" I called as he left. "Robert, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

We didn't speak for days. When I finally tried to talk to him again, he shrugged and said he'd already forgotten what I said. Looking back now, I realize I must've hurt him deeply, but since things went back to normal between us for awhile, I didn't think about it much, or notice that the more I saw of Walter, the less I saw of my brother. Before I knew it, he'd run off to join the army and our old relationship was just a memory. The last time I saw him was at my wedding, and he didn't show me any affection beyond giving me a small peck on the forehead after the ceremony.

"Thanks for the piece of wedding cake," he said, shunning Walter's attempt to shake his hand. "I've gotta go. Good luck."

Even now, I wish I'd slapped him for that. As it is, we haven't spoken verbally or written each other since.

oOo

I shook the ghosts of the past from my head and read on.

_I really wish I could be there for you now, but I know you'll get through this just fine without me. You know how you always said I was the smart, courageous one between the two of us? Well, you've always had something even more special in you—an inner light so bright it makes you a force to be reckoned with and the people around you better for having known you. Smarts and courage can fail to you in your darkest hours, but that light never will. Hang in there, Margaret. It'll get better soon._

I looked at the clock and sighed as I put the letter away. "I love you so much, Robert. I hope you know that."

With that, I slipped on my best high heels and marched out my bedroom and down the stairs before it got any later.

I'd secured an interview for a job at the Remington factory on Barnum Avenue and I was determined to see it through, despite Mom and Dad's concerns I'd die the second I walked in the building.(2)

"Relax," I told them. "That explosion happened almost a year ago. I'm sure they won't let something like that happen again."

Dad frowned. "You never know, Margaret. They say that explosion wasn't an accident, that fascists sabotaged the factory. You never know; they could try again."

I laughed and made a silly remark at the time, but as I approached the red brick building towering over me, I had to stop myself from turning around as an icy chill ran the 100 yard dash down my spine.

Keep going, I thought. _Just get through this and everything'll be fine. _

I reported to the security guard and, with his directions, found the manager's office.

"Whaddya want?" A gruff voice rumbled on the other side of the door when I knocked. "I'm busy."

I cleared my throat. "Are you Mr. Scott?"

"That depends on who's asking. If you're a loan shark or my ex-wife, you can go suck an egg."

"I'm Mrs. Allen," I said, fighting another icy chill running through me. "I called yesterday. You said you wanted me to come down for a job interview today."

A pause. "C'mon in, doll."

I opened the door and tried not to flinch at the stench of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper bourbon assaulting my nose.

Mr. Scott, a man of medium height and build, rose from a sagging office chair and offered his hand. I flinched at the unnerving gleam in his eyes. This wasn't like the wolfish looks I'd seen on my brothers' faces. This was pure lust.

He raised my hand to his lips when I tried to shake his hand. He looked ready to devour my fingers. "The pleasure's all mine. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk." He leaned against his worn desk and crossed his arms as I sat in a stained chair next to him. "Tell me, Mrs. Allen. Why are you looking for work?"

I shifted in my seat. "My husband was killed overseas. I'm my family's sole support now."

He nodded. "What special skills do you have?"

My eyebrows rose. "Special skills?"

"Can you type or take short hand? Do you have any experience with operating machinery? Have you ever worked in a factory before?"

I shook my head. "I'm just a wife and mother. I cook, clean, do the wash, sew…."

He fixed me with another lecherous stare. "Close enough. You're hired if you can start tomorrow. You'll work eight hour day shifts for the rest of the week. We pay 97 cents an hour and $1.07 for the night shift. Get a turban or hair net for your head, some coveralls and a short sleeve shirt. You'll get your shoes from us. And whatever you do, don't wear any jewelry, including your wedding rings, and trim your fingernails. We don't want you to take a chance on losing one of your pretty little fingers while you're working now do we?"(3)

"Oh," I mumbled as he showed me out. "All right. I just have one question."

He grinned. "If it's about having dinner with me tonight, the answer is yes."

I suppressed a shudder. "No. I was just wondering what exactly I'll be doing tomorrow."

"Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just remember this is a war, not a church bake sale or romantic rendezvous." He sighed. "If only it were. I'd sure be having more fun."

I wriggled out of his grip. "Goodbye Mr. Scott," I said without turning around. "And thank you."

oOo

"I'm supposed to do what?" I cried when my supervisor showed me my work station, a table covered in finger length bullets, the next day.

"What?" the red-bearded man shouted over the din of machinery threatening to deafen us.

"I said, what am I supposed to do?"

He raised his hands and walked away. "I don't care about your problems, sister. Just shut up and get to work!"

I turned to the thin young woman at the table beside me, who spread some bullets out in her palm. "Excuse me."

She ignored me, scrutinizing the ammunition.

I looked down at my table, fighting back an image of Walter as he waved to me from the train that took him away for his basic training. _Did he ever use bullets like these?_

I spoke again. "Excuse me!"

The girl scowled. "Do you want something, hon, or are you looking for a job as a coat hanger? If you are, then go stick yourself in the coatroom."

I sat down beside her, grateful to get off my feet, which were already throbbing in my new low-heeled shoes. "What are you doing?"

She didn't look up. "Checking them to make sure they don't blow up in the boys' faces when they use them."

"How do you do it?"

She shrugged. "It's not complicated. Look them over and make sure they're okay."

I grabbed a handful of bullets and started sorting them into a pile.

The girl glanced up. "Please tell me that's your dud pile."

I frowned. "No. Why?"

She grabbed a dented bullet. "See this? It's no good. You can't let any dented, pitted or cracked bullets through." She picked another bullet and put it in my hand. "You also have to check their weight. See how it feels? Make sure the other bullets feel like that too. The boys can't use anything that feels lighter or heavier. Got it?"(4)

I nodded. "I think so. Thanks."

She went back to her work with a grunt.

"I'm sorry to be such trouble," I added. "I thought I'd at least be told what I was doing before I started. Every newsreel I've ever seen of women working in factories said they received intensive training. All I got was a safety film before they brought me here."

She smiled. "That's why they show newsreels at the movies. Here, we can't be bothered to tell you much more than to not bump your head or drink at your desk. There's too many quotas to fill for the bosses to waste time on something as silly as giving directions."

I laughed. "My name's Margaret Allen. What's yours?"

"Nancy Wainwright. Pleased to meet you." She studied some fresh bullets. "It's funny, though, you look awfully familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?" 

I nodded. "I think I'd remember if we had."

She rubbed her chin. "I can't help thinking I've seen your face somewhere." Her eyes brightened. "Say, are you any relation to Bobby Hogan?"

My eyebrows rose. "I have a twin brother named Robert. Why?"

She snapped her fingers. "I knew it as soon as I saw you. You and Bobby look a lot alike. You've got those same beautiful brown eyes."

I looked away as my cheeks burned_._ "How do you know him?"

She snorted. "You've got to be kidding me. Bobby Hogan's a legend in this town. If he hasn't gone with you, you're either dead or his sis…" The rest of the sentence died in her throat.

I sighed. "Don't worry, you're not telling me anything new. I'm always running into girls he's swept off their feet. When did you meet?"

"July 4, 1926. We were at a picnic. I've never experienced so many fireworks in the sky and on the ground before or since. His kisses set the standard all men in my life have to live up to. The only one who even comes close is my husband Joe. He's in the Navy." She set the ammunition in her hand aside. "So, Margaret Allan, how did you end up in this dump?"

I fought a lump in my throat that formed when she said 'husband.' "My husband died in the war. Now it's up to me to make sure my three kids don't starve."

She put on a sympathetic face. "I'm sorry to hear that. It certainly explains why Mr. Scott hired you, though."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"He's got a thing for chasing war widows and married women." She shivered. "If that guy were any more of a creep, he'd crawl. He grabbed my tooshie in the lunchroom once."

I gasped. "What did you do?"

Nancy grinned wickedly. "I 'accidentally' spilt coffee down the front of his pants. He hasn't bothered me since."

My stomach turned. "Does he do that to every woman here?"

"Yeah. Most of the girls put up with him as long as he paws them in front of witnesses. They only run for the hills if he calls them down to his office when he's hitting the bottle."

I picked more bullets. "He was drunk when I met him yesterday. I could smell it all over him."

She shook her head. "You were lucky. You caught him before he got stoned(5). That's when he really plays dirty. He told one girl he'd fire her if she wouldn't spend a weekend in bed with him. The poor kid ended up leaving town knocked up." She wiped her hands on her coveralls. "He might not be as bad as some bosses who don't pay women equal wages, but sometimes he makes me so mad."

I swallowed my nervousness and changed the subject. "You said you're married?"

She reached into her pocket. "I've got his picture and one of my little boy here somewhere. He's named Joey too. He looks just like his daddy. Do you have any kids?"

"Yeah, two boys and a girl. Tom, my oldest, looks and acts just like Robert. He should be done with school next year. Lorraine's a couple years younger and very popular with the boys." _Come to think of it, she hasn't been on a date since Walter died. _"Then there's Eddie. My husband always said he took after me while Lorraine took after him. Thank goodness. It gets discouraging having children who don't seem anything like you. Eddie's a lot smarter than me, though. I've never seen a kid his age with grades that high."

Nancy nodded. "They sound wonderful. I'd love to see some pictures of them some time." She looked at the clock. "God, it's not even nine yet and I need an Old Gold break." She looked back at me. "What's your brand? Personally, I like Lucky Strikes better, but since Uncle Sam's got the monopoly on them, I'll settle for smoking anything rolled up in tissue paper."

My ears burned. "I gave up smoking when I got married. Walter couldn't stand the smell."

She frowned. "Do you drink at least? I know a great place not too far from here. Let's go right after work and unwind for a couple hours, my treat."

The burning sensation spread to my face. "Thanks just the same, Nancy, but I really can't. I have to help my mom make supper when I get home."

She whistled. "You sure you were married hon? Because you sound more like a nun. Don't you have any fun at all?"

I pursed my lips. "I do. I take the kids to movies and to the park…." I paused when I dropped a bullet. "Oh shit!"

"Sit up straight. You're hunched over so far you look like Father Time."

Realizing she was right, I leaned back and rubbed my shoulders as a middle-aged man stopped in front of me. "Did I hear the call of a damsel in distress?"

I turned, stunned at the face staring back at me. _My God, it can't be._

He offered his hand. "Harry Delaney's the name and safety inspection's my game. Now, what seems to be the trouble, new girl?" His smile changed to a puzzled expression. "Say, you look awfully familiar. You wouldn't be Margaret Hogan, would you?"

I nodded. Not only did he have a good memory, he hadn't changed a bit. Like Fred Astaire, he'd always looked 30 as a teenager, but he didn't look a day older now. "It's been a long time Harry. How've you been?"

He grinned again. "Pretty well, thanks. You?"

I shrugged. "All right. I just dropped a bullet."

He clicked his tongue and reached it. "You ought to be more careful." He stood and tipped his hard hat. "Here you are."

"Thanks. It was great to see you again, Harry," I called as he sauntered off, whistling. I frowned. _He's limping._ _I wonder how it happened._

Nancy covered her ears. "Where did he learn that awful tune? He's always whistling it."

"It's our old high school song."

"Huh." She lowered her voice. "Did you ever, you know."

I put my hands on my hips. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'd bet my next paycheck you had a crush on him." She winked. "Knock off the tomato complexion, will you? There's no shame in admitting it. I'd go for a guy like Harry if I was single. He's really sweet to all the girls."

I made a face. "Especially if they're pretty. He always talks to the pretty ones most. He never notices girls like me."

Nancy's forehead wrinkled. "What would you call that last bit of dialogue, him practicing for the school play? Give him a chance. People change."

"People don't change that much in 20 years," I snarled. "He was just being polite because he thought he had to be."

"Sheesh," she mumbled. "You don't give people much of a chance, do you? Trust me, honey, 20 years is a long time. Anything could happen."

(1) Lux Toilet Soap, a Lever Brother's product, was the first mass market toilet soap in the world. Not only was it used skin care and as dish soap, the company advertised it prevented runs in nylons. Lux is still produced today.

(2) According to my research, an explosion occurred on the factory's production floor in March 28, 1942, killing seven workers and wounding 80 others. Some believe the factory was haunted as a result. As of September 10, 2010, the factory building's last owner planned to level it when a fire damaged it August 28 of the same year.

(3) I'm basing this information on _A Real Rosie by_ Mae Graybill with Judy Sopronyi, featured in an August 2007 issue of _America in WWII_ and the videos _A Safety Training Film for Women Workers WWII USA_ and _Female factory workers kept army supplied during WWII _posted on youtube.

(4) Based on information and photos at historydotcom and researchpressdotcodotuk/shooting/lrml/ammunition/ammunition02dothtm

(5) At the time, stoned would've referred to being very drunk, not under the influence of drugs.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Another big thank you to everyone for their feedback. You've been wonderful encouragement and a great help in pointing me in the right direction.

"How was your first day of work?"

I looked up at Dad, trying to wake up enough to keep from falling face-first into my plate of roast beef and gravy. "Long, but good," I said between yawns. "I met a nice girl, Nancy Wainwright. We hit it off almost right away. She even invited me out for a drink tonight, but I told her I couldn't make it."

Tom covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. "You're kidding me. You're friends with Nancy Wainwright?"

I frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"Mother," Lorraine said, dividing the word in half. "She has the worst reputation. She smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish. I wouldn't be surprised if…."

"I'll thank you not to speak about your elders that way!" I snapped. "And where did you hear such nonsense? Mrs. Wainwright's like the rest of us, trying to help end this war a little sooner."

Tom stabbed his meat with his fork. "If you really wanted to help end the war sooner, you'd let me enlist."

I rubbed my temples as I felt a headache coming on. "I thought we settled this months ago. You're not going anywhere until you finish school."

"We didn't settle anything! You just said I couldn't go and wouldn't talk about it anymore."

Mom stood up. "Don't raise your voice at my table, especially when you're speaking to your mother. I think you should respect her wishes. If she wants you to stay in school, you'd better stay in school."

Tom glared at his mashed potatoes. "You don't understand, Grandma. All my friends are enlisting. If I don't, they'll think I'm a coward."

"For staying home and helping your mother?" She snorted. "Men. Where on earth do they get such ridiculous ideas?"

He rolled his eyes. "Grandma!"

She dumped a spoonful of peas onto her plate. "I think this family has sent enough young men to fight already. Now, that's quite enough talk about war for one evening."

We ate on in silence. Tom excused himself when he finished and went to his room. Lorraine and Eddie followed soon after.

I sighed and gathered the dishes. "Am I wrong?" I asked Dad as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Should I have told Tom he could enlist, no matter what my feelings are?"

He paused. "No. You're his mother. You don't want to see him get hurt or worse. The trouble is, sooner or later, he's going to start making his own decisions. He's almost 17."

I shook my head. "My life feels so out of control. I don't know what to do."

He shrugged. "Maybe it would help if you moved back home. The kids could be homesick. They haven't slept in their own beds for a couple months."

I tossed his napkin onto his plate. "I can't go back yet. I'm not ready."

Dad rose and put his hands on my shoulders. "You're going to have to face it sometime. Why don't you start by cleaning the house out this weekend?"

My headache intensified. "I can't, Dad. You remember what happened the last time I tried."

He squeezed me tighter. "C'mon Margaret. You know your mother and I love having you here, but you can't stay forever. Sooner or later, you're going to have to get on with your life."

I nodded. "I'll do it soon. I'm just not ready yet."

He clicked his tongue. "You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know. Mom and I'll help you. So will the kids."

"I know, but I've got to be able to take that first step before anyone can help me. Do you know what I mean?"

He patted my back. "Alright we'll wait for whenever you're ready. And we'll do it your way."

I managed a smile and removed the dishes. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, Margie."

I made sure my back was to him before I made a face. I'd never liked that nickname, even when I was little.

"Good girl," Mom said when I entered the kitchen. "I heard what you said in the dining room and I'm glad you're trying to be practical. Although, I really think you should clean out the house sooner instead of later. Eddie's been saying for weeks how much he wants to go home."

"I know, I know." I set the dishes down and changed the subject before my headache turned into a migraine. "You'll never believe who I ran into today; Harry Delaney from high school. He's working at the factory too."

"Harry," she muttered, wiping a plate. "Julie and Max's son, right? He was such a handsome boy. He could've been in pictures if he'd set his mind to it. He's the one you used to be sweet on, wasn't he?"

I blushed. "No."

She laughed. "All right, deny it if you want to. But anyone who couldn't see how googly-eyed you got over him was a fool."

I snapped a towel off the stove handle. "Well, even if it was true, it's all in the past now. I grew up."

Mom nodded. "Yes, you did. Maybe a little too soon."

oOo

A tickling sensation on the back of my neck woke me from a restless sleep. I smiled as the sun poked through the lace curtains of our honeymoon cottage, bathing everything in a golden glow. I rolled over and faced Walter, who yawned and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Morning," he whispered. "How are you?"

I stroked his hair. "I've never felt more wonderful. You?"

"The same. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get over the flu."

"Not to worry. The best things in life are worth waiting for."

His sky-colored eyes filled with tenderness as he examined our wedding bands. "My God, I love you."

We turned toward the window when a platoon of men screamed outside. I got up and opened the door to see what was happening as mortar fired erupted around us.

The waiting jungle's heat was almost as stifling as the smell of gunfire and blood. Despite every impulse I had to run back to where I'd come from, I pressed on through the shower of bullets and mud.

"Margaret!"

I gripped my rifle and turned back to Walter, now lying on the ground and reaching for me with a bloody hand. "Find Tom! He's out somewhere in this goddamn jungle."

I tried to ask what happened to him, but my mouth fumbled over the words.

"Find Tom!" he screamed. "Goddammit, that's an order."

I can't, I thought. _I don't know where to look._

"Are you an idiot? Didn't you hear me? He's out there somewhere. He took off to help Lorraine and Eddie secure a hill against my orders." His tone became pleading. "Find them Margaret. This damn place's overrun with the enemy. The Japs'll kill them if they find them."

It didn't hurt when I felt a bullet penetrate my forehead and lodge in my brain. I crumpled to the ground and watched with empty eyes as a line of combat boots marched past me.

oOo

I bolted up in bed, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. "Walter?" I whispered, half asleep. "Where are you?"

I could sense his presence, even feel his weight beside me in bed, but, when I reached out to touch him, I only found a lump of tangled blankets and sheets.

"Mom, are you okay?"

I turned, feeling the same urgency I felt in my dream and met Lorraine's frightened stare. I brushed an errant bang from my eyes and tried to put my thoughts in order. "It's all right sweetheart. I didn't hear you come in, that's all."

She crossed the room and sat beside me. "I was going to the bathroom and I heard you say my name. You sounded like you were wrestling."

I gave her a bear hug. "Thanks for checking on me. You know, your uncle Robert and I used to do this whenever we had nightmares. We'd talk about it until one of us got tired and went back to sleep."

Lorraine didn't reply, letting me rock us back and forth for a few minutes before I sent her back to her room. I'd laid down and closed my eyes again when I heard the door creak open and Eddie's heavy footsteps approach me. The bed shook so hard I could've sworn an earthquake had hit when he climbed i and curled up beside me. I tried to cuddle him, but exhaustion prevented me from doing more than whispering 'goodnight' before I fell asleep. Whether Lorraine or a sixth sense sent him, I'll never know, but I'll always be grateful I didn't have to spend the rest of the night alone.

oOo

_So that's what happened, Robert,_ I wrote, suddenly feeling ridiculous. After all, what did my brother, who was stuck in a prisoner of war camp, care about bad dreams? He had enough of his own real-life nightmares to deal with. _Maybe it's silly writing you about all these things going on in my life right now, but seeing everything on paper makes it less frightening. I hope you don't mind reading about it. _

I took a deep breath. _Thanks again for your letter. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to write, considering everything that's passed between us. I also know we can't change the past, but I realize now life is too short to keep making the same mistakes over and over again. I don't know about you, but I'd like to stop fighting and make a fresh start. Would you mind very much if I wrote you now and then? You wouldn't even have to read my letters, or reply if you didn't want to. I'd just like to write you, that's all._

"What are you doing?"

I set my pen down and grinned at Nancy as she sat beside me at one of the crammed lunch room tables. "Writing a letter. What about you?"

She screwed up her face. "Getting ready to choke down a stale bun and some radishes for dessert."

I laughed. "And you give me a hard time for being boring."

She frowned. "Alright, Mrs. Errol Flynn, since you think you're more exciting than I am, what are you having?"

I reached into my pail and pulled out moist sandwich. "Leftover roast beef and a side of carrots."

She rolled her eyes. "A fine thing, you waving such divine food under my nose when I haven't eaten meat in weeks. How'd you get it? You friends with a butcher or something?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? I guess I've got a good ration book."

Nancy started to say something smart when her gaze wandered to the door. She narrowed her eyes. "Uh oh. Don't look now, but Boss All Hands just walked in."

I disregarded her advice and caught Mr. Scott's greedy leer as he headed for us. "Well now, Mrs. Allan, how are you enjoying it here?" he asked, putting a foot up beside me on the bench.

I forced myself to keep smiling, even though my insides were doing the Mexican Hat dance. "Just fine, thank you. Mrs. Wainwright has been a huge help."

"Glad to hear it." He looked at Nancy. "My, it's been quite awhile since we had a friendly chat, hasn't it?"

She tilted her chin up. "As I recall, our last one ended in you having a very unfortunate accident."

His smile faltered for a moment. "Yes, you were most helpful." He turned back to me. "You're very lucky to have Mrs. Wainwright as a friend."

I nodded. "She's been very kind."

He leaned forward. "Speaking of kind, I was wondering if you'd still be interested in going out to dinner? I know a very _intimate_ Italian restaurant downtown."

A group of Dutch cloggers joined the Mexican hat dancers. "Thanks just the same, but I've got other plans tonight."

He snickered. "Like washing your hair? That's not a problem. You know, I'm rather fond of showers."

"Excuse me, Mr. Scott?" I hardly dared to breathe as I looked up and saw Harry tap the manager's shoulder. "Mrs. Ryan says she needs to talk to you about the next shipment of bandoliers."

If the look on Mr. Scott's face had been an explosive, the police would've found Harry scattered in tiny pieces around the room. "That Irish cow can wait."

Harry shook his head. "She says she needs to see you." His tone hardened. "_Now._"

Mr. Scott clenched his jaw. "Fine. If you'll excuse me ladies."

I let out a heavy sigh as he scuttled away. "Thanks, Harry."

"Happy to help." He lowered his voice. "I know he signs my pay checks, but I hate the way he treats the women here. I won't be sad when I see his sorry rear-end for the last time."

"Me too," Nancy piped up. "I've met barracudas who were nicer than him. They had better manners too."

Harry folded his arms. "Well, if he gives either one of you any more trouble, let me know right away."

"Harry!" a nasally voice squeaked. "Where've you been? I've been looking for you all morning!"

I turned in time to see a life-size Kewpie Doll slip her arm around Harry's.

"Uh," he sputtered. "Hi Isabel. Could you give me a minute?"

"Harry!" she said, making the Y sound like an E. "Let's go."

"Alright." He kept his eyes on us as he limped after her. "I'll be seeing you, Margaret. Nancy."

I gave him a small wave before returning to my sandwich. "Who was that girl?" I asked.

Nancy shoved her beets back into her pail. "Isabel Harris, the biggest tramp on the assembly, line if not the whole factory. Harry's the only man here she hasn't conquered, not that that's saying much, considering I can count the number of guys working here on my fingers." She gave me a sly smile. "Why so interested?"

I took a sip of ground-laced coffee. "I'm not. I'm just making polite conversation."

She tapped her chin, choosing her words carefully. "Well, Harry's been friendly with her, but not _friendly_ friendly. Personally, I think he's a dreamer, looking for a perfect set of threads in a pile of rags, if you know what I mean."

"Too bad," I said, watching him unhook her hands when she clamped them behind his neck. "He could be looking for a long time."

Nancy shrugged. "I don't know. I think he's got a better than average chance of finding his dream girl. In fact, I think he's getting awfully close."

I scowled. "Will you knock it off? Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not in love with Harry, I've never been in love with Harry and I never will be in love with Harry!"

Her grin grew wider. "Methinks you're fibbing, the way you're busting your chops."

I took the roast beef from between my bread. "Here, I'll make you a deal. You stop talking and I'll share all my lunches with you from now on. Deal?"

Her eyes lit up. "Cat's got my tongue hon." She bit into it like a starving dog. "Thanks! You're a real peach."

oOo

Dear Margaret,

Hmm, I don't know if I'd have time to read your letters between counting the birds and doing laundry, so maybe you shouldn't bother writing me. Honestly! Of course I'd love to hear from you! What kind of brother do you think I am? Wait, don't answer that, ha, ha. Besides, I said I wanted to help, and if this is the way I can do it, then I'm glad to be of service.

I'm happy to hear you feel the same way I do. Life _is_ too short. I realized that when I was CENSORED. All I could think about was that look in your face when I kissed you goodbye at your wedding. I don't want to spend the rest of my life regretting how I acted. It's time to let bygones be bygones.

I think you did the right thing with Tom. As much as we need enthusiastic boys like him fighting, he shouldn't be breaking the rules to join up. War isn't exactly a little boy's game. Tell I said that, will you? Hopefully he'll listen.

Glad to hear the news about everyone at home, especially my only nieces and nephews. I'd really like to meet them when I get home. You think you could stand having me drop in on you when I get home?

I'm doing well, thanks for asking. Camp life is dull, though I find ways to fill the time. If you knew the half of it, you probably wouldn't believe me.

Say hi to everyone for me and tell them I'm fine and missing them.

Love,

Robert

oOo

I smiled as I read, my heart soaring for the first time in years. _I wonder just what kind of mischief he's up to now._


	4. Chapter 4

AN: A quick word to prevent any confusion. We've jumped ahead a couple months from the last chapter. Hope you enjoy the second last chapter.

May 8, 1943

My home, Bridgeport Connecticut

Deep breaths, I thought when I reached my front yard. I'd finally decided, since I had a day off, it was time to get the house ready for the next phase of my and the kids' lives. But now, as I walked past the few blades of grass sprouting between the weeds, I wasn't so sure I was ready for the task ahead of me.

I hesitated at the porch. _This is where that boy stood when he turned my world upside down._

I slipped my hand in my pocket and fumbled with my house key. "Stop it. You're being ridiculous. That boy had nothing to do with what happened to Walter. He was just doing his job."

I closed my eyes as I opened the door, a wave of memories hitting me like a freight train. I took my thousandth deep breath and forced myself to check for any signs of disturbance. Mom, bless her, must've cleaned up the mess I'd left in the kitchen when she brought me my clothes.

I glanced at the photos of Walter I'd hung throughout the house and headed for the stairs._ It's like nothing happened. I keep expecting him to walk through the front door any minute._

My feet froze on the first step. "C'mon, move!" I cried, struggling the invisible force holding them. "What's wrong?"

_Just take it a step at a time._

I exhaled as much of the grief threatening to strangle me as I could, gripped the banister and forced myself to keep going. I got half way up before I froze again.

"I can't do this," I whimpered, fighting tears. "It's too hard."

_You have to do it. It won't get better until you do._

"I hate this house!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. "I've always hated it! This was Walter's dream house, not mine. Why did I let him talk me into it?" I struggled to keep my balance as my chest heaved. "Why did he get himself killed? Why did he leave me like this?"

Suddenly, I felt glad I insisted on going in the house first, alone. I didn't want anyone seeing me like this._ That's it, let it out before the children get here._

"I'm so scared," I murmured. "I'm not strong enough to do this."

A chorus of laughter and shouts reached my ears as the kids leapt up the porch steps.

_You can do this, Margaret. Do it for them. It's still their home, and yours too. _

"Mom, are you okay?"

I wiped my eyes and looked down at the three concerned faces staring at me. "I'm fine, sweethearts. Everything's going to be fine."

oOo

It was a large job, but I felt liberated after we packed up the boxes of Walter's things that no one but the Goodwill store wanted—so liberated I couldn't resist sharing my celebratory mood.

"Your call please," the operator's tired voice answered when I dialed her.

"Could you connect me with Mr. Joseph Wainwright's residence?" I asked.

"One moment please."

The phone clunked in my ear as it rang. _Please be home, Nancy._

The line clicked. "Hello,Casa de Wainwright."

"Nancy, it's Margaret Allen. From work." _Will you s__top talking like an idiot?_

"Margaret!" she gushed. "What a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you?"

I balled my fingers into a fist to keep them still. "Is that offer for a drink still good?"

"Yeah. You up for it?"

I laughed. "Nancy, the only thing I want right now is a drink."

A pause. "Good for you, hon. Get your hair fixed up, put on your sexiest dress and best pair of dancing shoes. I'm going to show you a good time the likes of which Bridgeport hasn't seen in years."

I studied my dusty house dress and hands. "I'm going to need some time to get ready. Where should I meet you?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

I gave her directions to my parents house, where all my clothes still were, when a baby's cry pierced my ear. "Joey!" Nancy called. "It's alright. Mama'll be right there."

Guilt nagged at me as the baby cried harder. "Listen, if you have to look after Joey, that's fine. There'll be other times."

She snorted. "Nonsense. Give me an hour so I can put him to bed and get my neighbor to watch him. Then I'll be ready to paint the town red."

oOo

Mom and Dad's house, Bridgeport Connecticut

"Gosh!" Lorraine cursed, fussing with my damp hair. "Why won't it stay? I'm sorry Mom, but I can't make you look like Dot Lamour if your bangs are going to be this stubborn."

I winced as she ripped out my hair by the roots with my brush. "Forget it then. My hair's too short for that anyway."

She sighed. "You're right. I guess you'll have to settle for Myrna Loy."

I frowned. "Good grief, I'm going out to a club, not the Academy Awards!"

She rolled her eyes. "Mom, how many times do I have to tell you you'll ruin your makeup if you keep wrinkling your forehead!"

I stood up. "Will you stop fussing?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry. It's just that you haven't been out in a long time. I want to you to look your best."

I studied my appearance. "I'm surprised you even gave me your blessing. I thought you'd hate the idea."

She shrugged. "Well, you're only going out with a girlfriend, even if it's Nancy Wainwright. It's not like you're planning to do anything crazy like run off and get married again."

"That, my dear, will probably never happen." I turned to the window when a car horn interrupted us. "That must be Nancy. How do I look?"

She beamed. "Beautiful."

I kissed her cheek before I grabbed my wrap and bolted down the stairs. "Thank you, dear."

"Mom!" Eddie called. "When can we move back home?"

I slipped into the high heels waiting for me by the door. "Tomorrow sweetie. I told you that earlier, remember?" I danced into the living room. "Ta-da!"

Dad poked his head out from around his newspaper and looked at me. "Very nice."

Mom set her knitting down and smiled. "You look lovely, darling." She poked Tom with one of her needles. "Doesn't she, Tom?"

He put down his book and gave me his best whistle. "Gee, Mom, you're quite a dish!"

I glanced down at my black evening dress. It was bustier than the dress I'd originally picked, but Lorraine refused to let me out of the house unless I borrowed her's.

"Thanks, but watch your language young man," I replied, hurrying out as Nancy opened the passenger door of her Chevrolet Clipper. "Be good for Grandma and Grandpa."

They waved from the front window as I climbed into the car.

"Hiya!" Nancy said. "You all set? Boy, you look swell."

I nodded. "Thanks. Where we going? The Dancer's Delight? The Happy Blue Note?"

She shook her head. "Nah, those places are boring. We're going somewhere with lots of character."

oOo

Pirate's Cove, Bridgeport Connecticut

I had a bad feeling as soon as we pulled up to the club, which looked like it should've been condemned. The clientele weren't much better; they all could've used a bath and shave.

"Is this what you mean by character?" I asked, ducking when a beer bottle sailed past my head.

Nancy giggled as she brushed a few glass shards off her arms. "Don't be shy, hon. They're just saying hello."

I watched the few men slumped over the bar nursing their drinks, and covered my ears to drown out the ragtime song jangling out of the jukebox. _That's an awfully strange way of saying hello if you ask me._

Nancy waved at a table of construction workers still in their work clothes. "Howdy boys! Still swinging your hammers?"

"You know it, sugar!" the beefy one replied.

I pulled away as Nancy started to join them. "I'll get something to drink and catch up with you later."

She gave me a puzzled look. "You can get a drink over there."

I sighed. "Look, I…."

She nodded. "I get it." She turned to the table. "See you later, fellas. This is a girl's night out."

My eyebrows rose. "What are you doing?"

"I promised you a good time and I'm going to make sure you have one. Leaving you all alone wouldn't be much fun, now would it?"

I gestured for her to leave. "Forget it. Give me a few minutes. I'll join you as soon as I'm ready."

She folded her arms, appraising me in the dim light. "Alright, but don't take too long."

I found a stool at the bar as she headed for the construction workers. "Do you have any white wine?" I asked the bartender.

He laughed. "What do you think this is, the Ritz? We serve beer here."

I sighed. "Fine, I'll have whatever's on tap."

"Pardon me for butting in," a warm voice interrupted. "But you should really stick with the Budweiser. The draft they keep on tap tastes like it's been filtered through a gentleman's unmentionables."

I smiled and turned to Harry. "Hi stranger. What are you doing here?"

He lifted his glass. "I could ask you the same thing. You go first."

I cocked my head toward my friend, who cracked up over something one of the construction workers said. "I came here with Nancy."

His gaze followed my nod. "I see she's being a good host."

I accepted the glass the bartender passed me and reached into my purse. "I told her to go on without me."

Harry reached for his wallet. "This one's on me, Hank."

"Harry!" I protested. "I appreciate the gesture, but it's not necessary."

He passed a bill over the counter. "I insist. You were saying?"

I squirmed in my seat, feeling like I was about to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. "I told Nancy to have a good time without me. To tell you the truth, I've never been much fun at places like these."

His smile reminded me of Bing Crosby's. "I guess some things never change. I don't remember you ever going to parties or clubs with the rest of the gang at school. Speaking of the old gang, are you still hanging around with Walter Allen?"

My face fell. "I married Walter. He died overseas a few months ago."

He looked down. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good guy."

I sipped my beer. Even though it tasted terrible, it dulled my anxiety. "What about you? What have you been up to since school?"

Harry shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. You know how guys drifted around, looking for work during the Depression? Well, I did it for a couple years before it became fashionable. I did everything from driving trucks to picking fruit. I did okay, but it got tough to find jobs." He chuckled. "It was all I could do to find a boxcar that wasn't full of guys whenever I needed to hitch a ride from state to state, so I decided to settle down and join the Navy."

I leaned against the bar. "So how did you end up back here?"

His expression turned somber. "I was on the USS West Virginia in December of '41. The only thing I remember from that day was trying to help the guys out of the galley when it caught fire. Next thing I knew, I was lying in a hospital bed. I messed up my knee and was burned so badly on my back and legs, the doctors weren't sure I'd walk again." He grinned. "They didn't know me too well. I was stubborn enough to make a full recovery just so I could prove them wrong. I'll probably always have a limp, but at least I'm alive, right?"

My mind flashed on Walter for a moment. _Did he do something that heroic before he died?_ "I'm sorry, Harry."

He frowned. "What have you got to be sorry for? Besides, those days of riding the pity train are behind me." He hopped off his stool when the juke box played a soft clarinet ballad. "Now, would you do this gimpy-legged guy the honor of letting him step on your toes for a song or two?"

I accepted his hand. "I'd be delighted."

He led me to the empty dance floor in the middle of the room and swayed us back and forth with surprising grace.

"You're a very good dancer," I whispered in his ear.

He turned me with a flick of his wrist. "Well, I have an excellent partner, which is half the battle."

"How do I compare to Isabel Harris?" The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them.

He pulled away, eying me quizzically. "What made you think of her?"

"I don't know," I lied. "It's just that she's been throwing herself at you so much lately, we've hardly had a chance to talk."

Harry pulled me close again. "Isabel's just a goofy kid. She likes being around me at work, better than I like it actually. I guess I let her talk my ears off because I feel kind of sorry for her. She doesn't have anybody who really cares about her."

I blushed, feeling like a catty teenager. "Have you ever had a special girl who wasn't Isabel?"

He shook his head. "I've looked but never found her. Why the personal questions?"

I shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Since we're asking personal questions, tell me why you married Walter."

I stiffened. "I thought you said you liked him."

"I do," he backpedaled. "It's just I never really thought you'd marry him, that's all."

I rested my chin on his shoulder. "It's funny, I've thought a lot about that lately. I used to think I married him because we were meant to be together, and I wanted to take care of him for the rest of my life. Now I'm starting to think it was because I was a shy, ugly girl and he was the only one who ever noticed me. I was afraid if I didn't marry him, I'd end up alone."

He clicked his tongue. "How can you say that? You were, and are, a very nice looking lady. I remember when I saw you for the first time, at the freshman pep rally. You had a laugh that seemed to light you up from the inside. Even when you laugh now, I can't help smiling."

I snorted. "That's a line if I ever heard one. You never gave me a second glance back then."

He smiled. "Oh, I glanced more than you realize. I just did it discretely, like a gentleman should. You know, I used to sit in the back of all our classes together so I could watch you."

I didn't know what to say, my heart flooding with feelings I'd forgotten I was capable of. _Nancy was right. Maybe I should give him another chance._

I caught a glimpse of Nancy over Harry's shoulder as she raised her glass and mouthed, _H__ave fun_.

oOo

July 12, 1943

The Streets of Bridgeport Connecticut

Harry draped his jacket over my shoulders. "There. Feel better?"

I nodded, my shivers subsiding. Both of us had too much to drink at the bar, as usual, and we decided we'd better walk home.

He put an arm around me. "Good. My mother always taught me never to let a lady catch her death of cold."

I giggled. "She must be quite a gal, your mother, considering she raised a boy like you."

He pulled me close. "That goes double for your mother."

I started to kiss him as we turned the corner when I noticed the skyline at the end of my street. "Oh, look, Harry, the sun's rising. This's the first time I've ever stayed up late enough to see it, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see it with."

His face glowing in the pink and orange light. "No regrets?"

I hugged him. "No regrets. It's been too long since I've been with a man I loved this much. Keep it up, and I might have to let you make an honest woman out of me."

He took me in his arms and kissed me softly once we reached the house. "I'd be honored to get the chance." I closed my eyes and let his touch flood my senses when a crash of dropped plates startled me back to reality. Tom and Lorraine stood at the door, their faces frozen in shock. Eddie, however, bolted around them and bounded toward us.

"Mommy, you're home!" he yelled, attracting a disapproving stare from a passing milkman.

I bent down and hugged him. "Hello, sweetheart. What are you doing up so early?"

"We got up to make you breakfast."

I mussed his hair. "How thoughtful. Thank you."

Eddie studied Harry the way he did the Salvation Army Santas that wore false beards. "Who's he?"

My gaze shifted from my youngster's freckled face to my teenagers. "This is Mr. Delaney."

"Hello," Eddie said. "I'm Eddie. It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

Harry shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Eddie. Your Mom's told me all about you." He waved at Tom, who left, mumbling something about having things to do. Lorraine gave him a stare that could've sliced and diced him.

"Thanks for the wonderful evening," he said, moving away from me. "I'll see you later."

I started to reply when Lorraine slammed the door so hard it nearly fell down. I let Eddie lead me inside and tried to ignore an awful feeling this was only a cloud burst compared to the coming storm.


	5. Chapter 5

July 15, 1943

"What?" I snapped, slapping my dishcloth in the soapy sink as Lorraine slammed the last glass back into the cupboard. It was the first time we'd spoken in three days. "What have I done that's so terrible?"

She refused to meet my gaze. "How could you just go and try to replace Dad like that?"

I frowned. "What are you talking about? I'm not trying to replace your father."

Her laughs came out as high-pitched shrieks. "You'd never admit it if you did. See, I told you not to hang around with Nancy Wainwright. She's turned you into a tramp!"

It took every ounce of self control I had not to slap her. As it was, I shook with fury. "Lorraine…."

Her shoulders tensed. "Don't Lorraine me! You're tossing Dad away like an old shoe. I thought you loved him!"

I gripped my apron. "I do love him."

"Then why don't you act like it?"

The apron started to tear. "Just how am I supposed to act? Am I supposed to sit around feeling sorry for myself for the rest of my life? I can't do that." I touched her shoulders. "Lorraine, your father's gone. Nothing we do is going to change that. We have to move on with our lives."

She narrowed her eyes as she shrugged me off. "Ah, I see it now. You're biding your time, trying to find a way to get rid of us too! That way you can have that _jerk_ all to yourself without worrying about us cramping your style."

I crossed my arms. "Is that what you think; that I'd abandon you? Oh, sweetheart, that's not true! Harry could never replace you, your father, brothers or grandparents in my heart." I reached for her again. "Listen, I know how you feel."

She flung her towel at me. "No, you don't and you never will."

"Lorraine!" I shouted as she fled upstairs and slammed the door to her room shut. It probably would've hurt less if she'd kicked me in the stomach. I followed her and banged on her door. After receiving no reply other than a few 'go aways' and 'I hate yous,' I went back downstairs.

You know what you have to do, Margaret, a small voice said. _You can't let your family be torn apart anymore than it already is._

I picked up the phone, my heart pounding at the protests and arguments whirling in my head. I dialed Mom, who answered on the first ring.

"I need to talk," I said.

Her tone became serious. "What's wrong?"

"You know how I've been seeing Harry Delaney? Well, the kids found out a few days ago. Lorraine nearly took my head off just now and Tom won't even look at me."

"How's Eddie taking it?"

I managed a small smile. "He wants to know when Harry's coming over again."

She chuckled. "He always was a good judge of character."

"The trouble is I don't know if I should see Harry anymore, since Tom and Lorraine feel so strongly about it."

"Oh, Margaret," she cried. "Don't do anything rash! Give them a chance to get to know Harry. They'll learn to like him as much as you do."

"What if they don't? I need them so badly, Mom, I couldn't stand losing them too."

She paused. "I know you've always been willing to sacrifice your happiness for others, but can you give up something that's made you happier than I've ever seen you, just like that? C'mon Margaret, give Tom and Lorraine a chance. They're good kids; they'll come around."

I rubbed my temples. "I wish I could believe that. Lorraine just told me I don't love her or Walter anymore."

"Lorraine's grieving, like Tom. They just need some time."

I sighed. "Well, the kids obviously need more of my attention than I thought, so I still think I'd better break it off with Harry. Besides, it's not like we were serious." I felt like I sucker punched myself as the words came out.

She sighed. "Alright dear, it's your decision. I just hate seeing you throw away something so wonderful."

I hung up and took a deep breath to strengthen my resolve. "Harry, I'm sorry, but..." My lips trembled. _C'mon, say it. _"Harry, I don't love you and I don't want to see you anymore."

I pictured that beautiful smile shattering at the sentence and bit my tongue, remembering Mom's words. _Can I really do it?_

Try again, the voice replied.

I didn't believe myself when I repeated it. I started to rehearse again as a car honked outside. I glanced up when Tom bounded down the stairs. _That's funny, I don't remember buying him that outfit. _My blood turned cold. _That's an army uniform._

"Tom!" I called, running after him. "Where are you going?"

"I enlisted a couple weeks ago," he said without looking back. "I leave for training today."

Panic seized me. "What? I thought we agreed you'd wait until you were a little older."

He wheeled toward me. "Well, I figured since you do whatever you want without thinking about my feelings, I'm entitled to do whatever I want without thinking about yours."

I followed him outside. "I didn't know that's how you felt. Why didn't you say something? We could've talked."

He rolled his eyes. "No, you would've talked and expected me to listen and obey. Well, I've had it! I'm going to start living my own life and nothing you do can stop me."

I grabbed his arm. "Don't go, Tom, I'm begging you. I don't want to you to get hurt."

He jerked his arm away in disgust and climbed into the cab of the waiting Ford pickup, which sped away in a screech of tires.

"Tom!" I screamed, scrambling back to the house to find my car keys. "Oh my God, no!"

oOo

By the time I returned home from tearing the train and bus stations apart, looking for him, I barely had enough strength to drag myself through the front door. If my spirits were any lower, they would've sunk straight through the ground to China.

I shouldn't have been surprised I couldn't find Tom. Even if there hadn't been so many nooks and crannies for him to hide in, he always had a knack for disappearing when he wanted to. Combined with the throng of couples sharing tearful goodbyes and families waving flags as their sons, brothers and fathers departed, I may as well have been searching the desert for the Holy Grail.

I collapsed on the living room couch and stifled my sobs with a throw pillow. For all the crying I'd done these past few months, I was surprised I had any tears left.

I'd calmed down a bit by the time the phone rang. I shouted for Lorraine to get it —the last thing I felt like doing was talking to anyone—but when I didn't receive any response, I resigned myself to getting rid of whomever was on the line.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Margaret, is that you?" Harry asked.

I cleared my throat and started to ask him if we could meet and talk about the two of us, but something in his voice made me hesitate. "Yeah. What is it?"

"Listen, I know it's your day off, but would you mind coming down to the factory? Nancy just got a call from her neighbor. Her husband's missing in action."

My heart sunk. "Oh, no. Are you sure?"

"Yeah. The neighbor claims the telegram boy delivered it to her by mistake. She opened it and realized it was about Nancy's husband, not her son. I don't know how you could make that kind of mistake, but that's what she says."

I closed my eyes. "That's a hell of a way to find out."

He sighed. "I know. She's hysterical. The only thing I can get out of her is your name."

I nodded. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes." I hung up and wrote Lorraine a note before retrieving my purse.

oOo

Harry met me at the door and hustled me through the corridor. "Thank God you're here. She's catatonic. No one can get her to say anything now."

I swallowed hard. "Surely she isn't that bad. This is funny, happy-go-lucky Nancy we're talking about."

He shook his head. "I wish I was exaggerating. You'd better see her for herself."

What little hope I'd held died when we reached the lunchroom, where Harry had left her with some of the girls. Nancy didn't even seem able to lift her head up, much less greet us with a smart remark.

I motioned to the other girls to go as I kneeled beside her. A sick feeling formed in the pit of my stomach when I tilted her chin so she'd look at me. The only time I've ever seen such empty eyes was when I sat with a boy in the hospital who'd been rescued from a life boat in the middle of the Pacific. The doctors said they found him with four other boys who'd died from dehydration and he would've followed suit if they hadn't found him when they had.

"Nancy," I said quietly, wrapping her in a fierce hug. She felt like a rag doll in my arms. "I'm sorry. Do you need anything?"

She didn't respond then, or when I started babbling about how hard it must be for her and how she must feel. Finally, I changed topics. "Do you want me to talk to Mr. Scott about giving you the rest of the day off so you can be with little Joey?"

I caught a small glimmer in her eyes, which faded almost as quickly as it came. "How am I going to tell him his daddy's dead?"

I shook my head. "You don't know that yet. My mother got the same telegram when Robert was shot down and he turned up in a prison camp. You never know, Joey might be okay."

She stared at me, her grief dissolving into white hot rage. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the floor, nursing my jaw, which felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. "Shut your goddamn mouth, you filthy liar!" she shrieked. "Don't tell me he's alive when I know he's dead! You're sick, you know, absolutely sick! Get out of here!"

I felt something snap in me as all the pain and anger I'd been holding back burst from me like water from a broken dam. Before I could stop myself, I stood up and slapped her so hard, she felt off her chair. "That's enough!" I shouted, my mother's speech she gave to me during my grief returning to haunt me. "You think you're the only one who's ever felt what you're feeling now? I've been there. Hell, I bet at least half the women here have too. You don't see them acting like they have a first class ticket to the nut house!" I put my hands on my hips. "Okay, Miss Fortune Teller, how do you know Joey's dead?"

She clutched her ears. "I know! I just know it!"

"You don't know squat! For all you know, he might've already turned up fit as a fiddle while you've given him up for dead. How do you think Joey would feel if he knew his wife was ready to put him in a pine box before he was ready to go? Huh? Did you ever think of that?" The girls who hadn't left stared at me like I was the one who needed to be committed. "Damn it, Nancy, I know how tough it is, not knowing anything for sure yet, but you can't lose hope that fast, if for no other reason than you have a baby that needs his mama to have a clear head. He's depending on you."

I mentally kicked myself when Nancy burst into tears. "Oh honey," I sat down and held her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done or said all those awful things. I should've known better. Getting one of those telegrams isn't exactly like falling in a bed of roses, no matter what it says. You have my permission to never speak to me again. I'm a completely insensitive mule."

"A completely insensitive, but correct mule," she cried into my shoulder. "Joey would flatten me if he knew how I'd been acting. I'm the one who's sorry. It's you who should never speak to me again."

I patted her back as another storm of tears rocked her. "Don't be silly. You've helped me so much these last few months that I'm going to stick by you like a bad penny, okay? You hear me girl? I'm not going anywhere. You've got to do what you got to do and if you need to talk about something or cry on a soft shoulder, you come right to me." I paused as she sobbed harder. "You know something? You're going to be okay. Not today or tomorrow, but you're going to be okay."

oOo

I left Harry with Nancy once she'd calmed down and made my way to the bathroom when I heard footsteps heading for me.

"Well, well, Mrs. Margaret Allan." I froze. The slur in Mr. Scott's voice was more pronounced than usual. "What brings you here on your day off?"

I tried to step around him. "I need some water."

He blocked my way. "What's your hurry? I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

I stepped back and found my back literally against the wall. "Listen, Mr. Scott, I'm in no mood for games."

He laughed and took another step toward me. "I get it. You've never been around a real man before. You don't know how to act. Well, don't be shy, doll, because I won't hurt you. I'm not a creep."

He was so close I could almost identify the brand of booze he'd been guzzling. "I believe you," I said, pushing him away. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He leaned closer and stroked my arm. "I like hot tomatoes like you. They're a lot more fun than the simpering doe-eyed dopes we usually get around here."

"Good. Then you're going to love me!" I screamed, kicking his shin as hard as I could. Either I was weaker than I thought or alcohol is a wonderful painkiller because he barely let out a grunt. He moved enough, though, for me to slip past him.

"You like to play dirty, huh?" he called, hobbling after me. "Great! I love a dirty girl."

I sprinted down the hall, not daring to consider what would happen if he caught me. The whole thing seemed like a scene from a bad Saturday afternoon serial. I would've laughed if it wasn't actually happening to me. _Better think fast, Margaret._

My gaze flicked to a wrench leaning against the wall. For once, I was glad someone hadn't followed the rules about putting tools away.

"C'mon, babe! Papa's waiting."

I grabbed the wrench, almost dropping it on my foot, and swung it as hard as I could. The grimy thing slipped out of my hand and went high, grazing the side of Mr. Scott's head. He crumpled to the floor like a duck Dad shot once.

"Margaret." I turned, my knees weakening with relief as Harry ran over. "When I heard you scream, I was afraid something fell on you or..." He glared at our unconscious boss as he checked his pulse. "Did he hurt you? If he did, I'll kill him. So help me God, I'll tear him from limb to limb."

I shook my head, grabbing for him when my strength failed. "No."

His tense shoulders eased as he caught me. "Thank God. You mean so much to me, Margaret. If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

"Harry," I whispered. "Oh Harry, this's been an absolutely awful day. Between Mr. Scott, Tom and Nancy, I..." I lost my voice as I started to cry.

You have to break up with him, that voice in my head said. _You have to do it now, before you go any further. You're going to hurt him enough as it is now. Putting it off will only make it worse. _I wet my lips. _Do it! What are you waiting for?_

He studied my face. "C'mon. Let's sit down and talk about it."

I tried to speak, but no words would come as I thought of all the nights we'd spent talking and laughing. His strength and unconditional love as we worked through my fears and sadness were greater comforts than I could ever tell you, especially when I was ready to give up on myself. I realized, as I wailed into his shoulder, I needed him as badly as I needed my children, more so now that Tom was gone. I couldn't give Harry up, not now, not ever, consequences be damned.

oOo

November 5, 1943,

Dear Margaret,

Congratulations on your engagement. I can't think of a better, or luckier guy, for you to marry, though I'd be lying if I said I was surprised Harry popped the question. I always thought he had a secret crush on you. Now, I wish I could be at the church to toss some rice at you crazy kids!

Sorry to hear about you losing your job, though not half as sorry as I am to hear about what you did to your boss. I bet you creamed him! Honestly, if I had to choice between having Frank or with me in a fight, I'd pick you every time. There's a reason why it says, 'To Margaret, the gal who swings a mean baseball bat,' in your yearbook.

Have you had any word from Tom? I know it's hard, Margaret, but try not to worry about him too much. He's a smart boy from everything you've told me, even if he's a little headstrong, so I'm sure he can take care of himself. Of course, me calling him headstrong is like the pot calling the kettle black.

Thanks again for telling me the wonderful news! Despite everything, it sounds like your life is really coming together. I'm so happy for you. I promise when I get home, I'll pack a wedding present in my kit-bag.

Give my love to everyone,

Robert

oOo

Newington, Connecticut

January 20, 1944

I watched the blind soldier's chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm, suddenly aware my throat was sore. I don't know when I started telling him my story or if he heard any of it, but it felt good talking about everything for the first time.

I patted his bedside and stood. "Sorry if I bored you, Tiger. Hope you feel better soon."

Guilt hit me as I looked over at his sleeping neighbour— a young Negro boy with a weeping head wound—half hoping I'd see Tom. The truth is I wouldn't have visited the hospital if it weren't for him. Losing Tom was like losing Walter all over again and almost more than I could stand. I don't know what I would've done if Harry hadn't stuck by me, especially when Mr. Scott fired me. We've been married for two months now, with Mom, Dad, Frank, Nancy and Eddie's blessing. It's taken more time than I'd like, but Lorraine's accepted that Harry's part of our lives now and realized he won't send her or Eddie away. She's even warmed toward him since he introduced her to her latest boyfriend, a very respectable nephew of his. I wrote Tom about the wedding in October. He never wrote back. In fact, I haven't heard from him since he left.

I sighed. _I should just go home and stop acting like a fool. It's not fair to the men I'm trying to help if I'm doing it because I have the crazy idea I'll find Tom and put my family back together. Besides, Eddie's missed me. I promised I'd take him to the movies on my next day off from the uniform factory. Harry's been pestering me to help him paint the kitchen, too. Not that I mind; it'll look nice once it's finished. I have to admit, I like the house a lot more now that Harry's helping me fix it up. It feels more like my home instead of Walter's._

"Mom."

I stopped. I'm used to hearing soldiers' call for their mothers, but I'd never heard one who sounded so much like Tom.

"Mom!"

I turned and meet my son's sorrowful eyes. His arms and legs flailing in their slings as he waved me over.

I rushed over and hugged him. "Tom! What happened? Why are you in casts?"

"I'll be okay. I had a little accident when the Japs ambushed my squad while we were on patrol. Oh, Mom, I'm sorry!" he cried. "When that jeep rolled over and pinned me, all I kept thinking about was how I'm so sorry about everything. I really messed up."

I didn't care what he'd done. All I wanted was to hold him and never let go.

AN: This officially concludes the Sisterhood of War series, folks. Thanks so much for your support. It's truly been a joy writing for you. I'll be pursuing more HH canon stories from now on, though don't be surprised if a sister or two pops up in my work again sometime in the future.


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